


The Party of the Century

by amb_393



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amb_393/pseuds/amb_393
Summary: The Time Team travels to 1960s New York on their first mission post-Season 2.





	The Party of the Century

_Wyatt’s mouth was hot and wet as he sucked on Lucy’s nipple, the stubble on his jaw rubbing deliciously against her sensitive skin. She moaned and arched toward him, tangling one hand in his hair to hold him close and letting the other slip between her legs._

_Wyatt pulled away and grinned at her, bracing himself on his forearm to lean over her. “How am I doing, ma’am?” he teased._

_“Would you just shut up,” Lucy growled back, looping an arm around his neck to pull his lips down to hers in a hungry kiss. Wyatt was more than happy to comply, pushing his fingers through her dark hair and his tongue into her open mouth. He could spend forever kissing Lucy Preston. Lucy cradled his face in her hands and kissed his mouth, his jaw, his ear, his neck, as Wyatt ground his body against hers, letting her feel how her touch was affecting him._

_“Seems like I’m doing a pretty good job, too,” she murmured breathily as his tongue left her mouth to trace a burning path between her breasts and down her stomach, lower and lower until she gasped and shivered._

_Lucy’s world narrowed to a pair of bright blue eyes and the feeling of Wyatt gently pushing her legs further apart to guide himself into her. They fit together perfectly, were made for each other. Lucy had never known another lover like him._

_“Lucy, you’re perfect,” he murmured against her neck._

_“I love you, Wyatt,” she whispered back._

Lucy jerked awake with a gasp. The room was dark and silent, and she was alone in her bed. She felt her cheeks color with a warm blush as the dream came rushing back. Lucy groaned inwardly and threw an arm over her eyes, filled with a confusing mixture of arousal and embarrassment. She and Wyatt were . . well, whatever they were, they were not in a position to be doing _that_.

It had been only six weeks since Lucy had literally collided with Wyatt and Rufus—grenade in hand—in a munitions tent in World War I France, but it seemed like a lifetime. Reuniting with her team had felt like a breath of fresh air, a promise that better things were on the horizon. That breath had been stolen by the metaphorical punch to the gut that was seeing Wyatt’s resurrected wife staring up at her in the Lifeboat.

It had been just three weeks since Jessica’s betrayal, the trip to Chinatown, and Rufus’s death. Jessica had been gone just as long as she’d occupied the bunker, but it seemed that her presence still hung heavily over the team. Rittenhouse had been quiet these three weeks, presumably as Emma settled into her new place at the helm of the cult, but they knew it couldn’t last. The silence had everyone on edge.

Flynn had taken to sniping at any and all of them again, preferring to spend the time that he wasn’t delivering sarcastic commentary in his room with the door shut. He still let Lucy in when she knocked, but their conversations had grown increasingly distant. He no longer seemed interested in getting to know her and remained tight-lipped when she probed for more information about the journal. She had a feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. Meanwhile, Denise’s knitting had gotten more ambitious, and when she wasn’t poring over reports trying to interpret more Rittenhouse intel, she was painstakingly working on a shapeless sweater for Michelle.

Connor, Rufus, and Jiya were channeling their nervous energy into equations and formulas and computer codes, working around the clock to develop the technology that Future Lucy and Future Wyatt promised. None of the group actually remembered the Future Lucy and Future Wyatt who had appeared in a second Lifeboat, but the Lucy who watched their dramatic entrance had taken painstaking notes about the details that they shared and stowed them safely in the Lifeboat. The future versions of themselves hadn’t allowed anyone to join them on the rescue mission for Rufus, as three versions of a person in one place was more than even they were willing to risk, and it seemed too burdensome for Jiya or Connor to be the lone survivors in remembering Rufus’s death. Instead they shared all the relevant details with Lucy, made her promise to keep the new journal in the Lifeboat to preserve it against future timeline changes, and then went back to complete the mission that would restore Rufus to them and erase the memory of his death from their minds. Afterward, when they found the new journal, written in Lucy’s hand, they marveled at the story of how Future Lucy and Future Wyatt had appeared in their own timeline, given them the secrets for upgrading the Lifeboat, and then saved their friend from a painful, lonely death.

Lucy had taken to rereading the new journal almost every day, carefully sneaking into the Lifeboat hangar after everyone else was asleep to slip it from its hiding place under her seat. She knew that she—or a version of herself—had written the account, had lived through the horror it described, had met and talked to an alternate version of herself—but even for a seasoned time traveler, sometimes it was still hard to believe. Rufus was with them, alive and well and cracking jokes, and it often struck her as both an exhilarating relief and a crippling reminder of what they stood to lose. Reading about her future self looking battle-tested and confident and completely in sync with Wyatt was exactly the opposite of how she currently felt. Maybe once—after a certain trip to 1941 Hollywood—she had felt like that future was possible, but now it seemed more like the dream that was quietly slipping away from her consciousness, a figment of imagination born of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

Lately it felt like her entire life was a series of broken promises and aching disappointments. She silently tallied up the things she had lost since Agent Kondo knocked on her door all those months ago. Her quiet life researching and teaching as a tenure-track professor had been exchanged for a life spent living underground and chasing villains through the past. Her sister had disappeared without a trace, and she had no idea how to get her back. Her mother lied to her, kidnapped her, and even in her final moments, prioritized Rittenhouse over her only daughter. Rufus, whom she loved like a brother, had apparently died a violent death in the 19th century, and it made her shiver in horror to consider losing him. And of course, Wyatt, the one who stood beside her and gave her hope even in the darkest of times, had been reunited with his previously-dead wife and abandoned her and their fledgling relationship before they even had a chance to figure out what that night in Hollywood meant.

Lucy wanted to believe that the worst was behind her, that if she had survived all of those horrors, then she could survive anything. On those days, she could let herself relax and laugh with her friends, chat with Wyatt, play card games with Rufus and Jiya. But there were other days when the nightmares haunted her dreams, when the fear of losing the life she and her bunker family had built together plagued her, when it was all she could do to drag herself out of bed for a cup of tea.

Across the bunker, Wyatt was awake before his alarm, as usual. Rufus was snoring in the room’s other cot, but it didn’t even bother Wyatt anymore. He wasn’t in a hurry to get up. The problem with living in a bunker was that there was no place to hide. It seemed that the guilt from his previous timeline—of taking responsibility for Jessica’s death—had twisted itself into guilt over betraying his teammates, endangering the mission, and contributing to the death of his best friend. Wyatt Logan couldn’t go anywhere to escape from his mistakes, because, well, it seemed that he never stopped making them.

The rest of his bunker-mates—excepting the surly Garcia Flynn—had told him that they forgave him, but Wyatt couldn’t help feeling like he had already gotten his allotment of second chances. He dedicated himself to paying penance for his mistakes, trying and trying again to prove that he was once again fully committed to the team and to the mission, his common sense and sense of duty no longer obscured by blind loyalty to a mysterious woman from his past.

His strangled confession to Lucy on the bunker floor that terrible day after Rufus died was documented in Lucy’s new journal. It wasn’t with the rest of the account of their future selves but had been written on a separate piece of paper slipped between empty pages. He had found it a few days after Rufus was saved, as he was trying to convince himself that this alternate timeline written in Lucy’s handwriting was, at least in some sense, real. He hadn’t yet figured out if he was relieved that a version of himself had told Lucy he loved her, angry at his other self for choosing such ridiculously terrible timing to finally tell Lucy the truth, irritated that _this_ version of himself hadn’t gathered the same courage yet, or confused about why Lucy had ensured she would remember their conversation even though she never shared it with anyone else in the bunker.

He could understand why his other self had said those words; his wife had just revealed she was Rittenhouse, his best friend had been murdered, his relationship with Lucy was destroyed, and his dignity was in tatters after failing to protect the team. His feelings for Lucy would have been the only thing left that he knew with certainty, but that didn’t mean telling her then, after she had been through so much trauma, was the right choice. In fact, the truth of his feelings for Lucy were still the only certain thing in his life as he tossed and turned in his narrow bunker cot, but he was determined that this time he would do things right. This time, he would choose the perfect time to tell Lucy again that he loved her.

And it would need to be perfect. He had thought the bunker felt small when Jessica was there, but it was nothing compared to the way he and Lucy now orbited around each other like magnets. Some days they were opposite poles, drawn together by an invisible force that was more instinct than choice. On those days, they laughed and talked like they used to, and he could feel their relationship being repaired stitch by stitch. Sometimes she sought him out for a cup of tea or to discuss a new article she had read. Sometimes she even let him touch her—a small touch on her back, an arm around her shoulder, or once, her hand in his.

But the other days she was aloof and distant, and he knew that she was deep in the pain and insecurity that he had caused her when he ran out of the bunker three weeks ago with no thought for how his actions would affect her. Those days it was like he physically repelled her, and she skillfully avoided him as though they weren’t locked up together in an underground prison. He knew that he didn’t deserve to be forgiven by her easily, maybe not at all, and he recognized that Lucy needed time to heal, to mourn her mother, to decide if she would ever be ready to explore _the possibilities_ with him again, but it still hurt when she retreated into herself, unreachable by anyone, especially him.

A familiar alarm blared throughout the bunker. The Mothership had finally jumped again—the Time Team was back on duty.

Lucy reached the Lifeboat hangar first, with Rufus and Jiya close on her heels. “November 28, 1966. New York City,” she read off the monitors, a green blinking circle indicating the Mothership’s new location. She pursed her lips in thought for a moment, then broke into a small smile. “Looks like we’re going to a party.”

“A party?” Rufus sputtered. “It’s, like, 6am—who throws a party at 6am?”

Jiya fixed him with an exasperated look. “I don’t think you’re going to be arriving in New York at 6am,” she said drily, taking a closer look at the monitor. “Looks like it’s about 9pm. Wait!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I think I know this one.” She snuck a shy look at Lucy from under her eyelashes, still leaning over the computer systems. “Is it Truman Capote? The Black and White Ball?”

“Jiya’s right,” Lucy concurred. “That’s Truman Capote’s famous Black and White Ball. Everyone was there—celebrities, socialites, even international royalty and First Daughter Lynda Bird Johnson. Kay Graham was the guest of honor, but it was really just an excuse for Capote to celebrate the success of _In Cold Blood,_ which was published earlier that year.”

“Who’s Kay Graham?” Wyatt interjected, stumbling into the silo still buckling his belt. Lucy tore her eyes away from his busy hands before her traitorous mind could think any more about that particular area of Wyatt’s body and what those hands had done to her in her dream. Connor and Flynn were close behind him, rubbing sleep from their eyes and listening closely to Lucy’s history lesson.

“She owned _The Washington Post_ and was one of the most influential women of the time, but I’m not sure if she’s the target. Capote spent $16,000 on the ball, which would be more than $100,000 today. It’s been called the “Party of the Century”—there were so many famous people there, any of them could be Rittenhouse’s target.” Lucy worried her thumbnail with her teeth, brows knitted in thought.

“Guess we’ll just have to figure it out when we get there,” Wyatt decided firmly, already climbing the metal stairs to the Lifeboat. Rufus, Lucy, and Flynn moved to follow him, but Jiya interrupted before Flynn could climb the staircase.

“Actually, could I take this one? I know I’m not a soldier, but I love _In Cold Blood_. Anything true crime, really..Capote, _Serial_ , _Making a Murderer_..this is kinda my thing. Plus I picked up a few self defense tricks when I lived in the 1880s,” she smirked.

The other four exchanged a look, and Flynn backed away slowly. “Be my guest,” he remarked in his signature sarcastic tone, dipping into an ironic half-bow and extending an arm toward the Lifeboat so Jiya could climb aboard.

As they settled into their seats, Wyatt reached for Lucy’s seat belt without thinking. It was a motion borne of habit—a habit that had lain dormant since he brought Jessica to the bunker—and they both realized the intense, strange familiarity of it at the same time. Their eyes met, and Wyatt’s hands stilled over Lucy’s straps, unsure how she would react to his assistance. Lucy froze, his clear blue eyes burning into hers, seeing straight through her as if reading her mind. His warm, clean smell was making her head fuzzy, but suddenly remembering what her unconscious mind had recently conjured up, she tensed and pushed away his hands, abruptly breaking eye contact.

He noticed. “Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

“I can do it, Wyatt,” she snapped coolly.

He nodded stiffly and retreated to his seat. So it was going to be one of _those_ days. Lucy tried to ignore his hurt look as she fumbled with the buckles, but it was better that she stay as far away from him as possible. After all, it was obvious that she couldn’t be trusted to make rational decisions around Wyatt Logan.

The team’s typical routine of stealing clothes when they arrived was made more difficult by the dress code of the ball—tuxedos for the men, black or white gowns for the women, and masks for all—but soon enough they were gathered outside the Plaza Hotel watching the who’s who of 1960s American society swan their way into the Grand Ballroom. 

“As usual, I’m the hired help,” Rufus quipped. “But you all look great.” He had managed to snag a waiter’s uniform, resigned to a serving role as an unfortunate consequence of the homogeneous makeup of American mid-century high society, but they all knew that Rufus’s invisibility as a member of the hotel staff could be an important asset. People were notoriously loose-lipped around those they considered inferior.

“I have to give Emma credit,” Rufus sighed. “There are so many famous people here that we have no idea who she’s after, and everyone’s wearing masks, so it’s hard to identify anyone.”

“They can’t tell who we—or she—is either,” Lucy interjected. “The masks will come off at midnight though, so we have less than two hours to figure out her plan.”

Wyatt couldn’t help sneaking a few glances at Lucy, who was stunning in a high-necked, sleeveless black dress that was fitted in the bodice and flared into a wide floor-length skirt. The simplicity of the dress served only to accentuate her natural beauty, which he knew from experience shone in any time period. Jiya had chosen a sleek strapless gown with a white bodice and black skirt that still provided her a range of movement thanks to a stark slit from ankle to knee.

“So how are we getting in?” Wyatt asked, tearing his eyes away from tracing the curves of Lucy’s body underneath the fabric of her dress.

“You have to have an invitation to get in, and then—because of the masks—everyone is being announced at the door, so just walking in isn’t really an option,” Lucy explained. “Plus if Lynda Bird Johnson has already arrived, her Secret Service detail will be providing security as well. Did you see a back entrance?”

“There’s always a kitchen entrance,” Rufus scoffed, leading them away from the grand entrance toward the back of the hotel. It wasn’t difficult to find the kitchen, as Rufus predicted, but it was abuzz with chefs and waiters preparing for the party.

“I’ll go first,” the pilot volunteered. “If you all are following me, they’ll just assume I’m doing your bidding or whatever. They’ll notice that you don’t belong, but no one’s going to question why you’re slumming it in the kitchen.” 

Lucy fidgeted with her black mask nervously. It seemed bold to walk right into a crowded kitchen as a means of sneaking in, but the masks did afford them a measure of anonymity. Rufus yanked open the door and strode confidently into the kitchen, hoisting a tray of canapés into the air as he passed a nearby counter to lend credence to his disguise. Lucy followed Jiya inside and was surprised to find that everyone was indeed so focused on their tasks that they barely gave the richly dressed intruders a second look.

As they crossed the polished tile floor, Lucy’s foot caught on the hem of her dress, and she lurched forward, narrowly avoiding a collision with a waiter carrying a tray of full champagne glasses. Wyatt instinctively grabbed her arm to steady her, always attuned to protecting her from the slightest danger, but he didn’t let go as he guided her out another door into the hallway.

Lucy shrugged him off as they gathered in a quiet corner away from the steady stream of foot traffic traveling to and from the ballroom and maneuvered herself to stand between Rufus and Jiya, as far away from him as she could get in their little huddle.

Wyatt, ever the soldier and strategist, took charge. “Here’s the plan. Lucy and Jiya, find a vantage point and get a sense of what we’re working with here. See if you can figure out who—or what—Rittenhouse is after. Rufus and I will stay on the ballroom floor and look for Emma and her henchmen. Got it?”

The others nodded seriously. Wyatt fixed one last questioning look at Lucy, searching for answers in her face, but as before she couldn’t hold his gaze. Finally he sighed and motioned for Rufus to follow him back into the rush of bodies marching toward the ballroom.

Lucy and Jiya turned down the corridor, following the sounds of conversation and laughter. Heavy curtains partitioned the hallway from individual guest boxes lining the sides of the ballroom, and the women listened briefly at each one, hoping to find an empty box where they could observe the room. A gaggle of partygoers suddenly pushed through one of the curtains, the tipsy women almost crashing into Lucy as they exited in a haze of giggles and perfume.

“This is it.” The two women shared a look, bracing themselves for whatever might await them in the ballroom, and Jiya pulled back the undulating curtain so Lucy could slip first into the newly vacant box.

Lucy gaped at the scene in front of her. For all the times that she’d traveled into the past, seeing the history books come to life never failed to amaze her. The neoclassical ballroom was perfectly sumptuous with its gold-trimmed walls, mirrors gilding the ceiling, and lavish carpet. Red velvet curtains hung along the ballroom stage, and crimson tablecloths draped the tables surrounding the dance floor. The huge room was illuminated by heavy crystal chandeliers while candlelight flickered romantically from each table centerpiece. More than 500 guests milled about, pairing off into couples on the dance floor, sipping from champagne flutes, or simply taking in the pageantry and people-watching of the evening. This was the ultimate place to see and be seen. The room was a monochromatic blur of glittering fabric punctuated by dramatic masks festooned with feathers, jewels, and ribbons.

“Damn. This is the nicest party I’ve never been invited too,” Jiya deadpanned over her shoulder, adjusting her mask.

“It’s _amazing_ ,” Lucy breathed. “There’s Frank Sinatra, Mia Farrow, Mary Lasker, Tallulah Bankhead, John Steinbeck, Oscar de la Renta, Gloria Steinem,” her gaze trailed through the crowd, picking out those she could recognize underneath their masks or knew from photos—photos that would be taken that night.

“And there,” Jiya pointed toward a short man in large black-rimmed glasses, “is the man of the hour. Truman Capote himself.”

Lucy followed Jiya’s finger to the middle of the room where Capote was deep in conversation with Katherine Graham and another man, seemingly oblivious to the masses around him.

“It took him almost six years to write _In Cold Blood_ ,” Jiya said quietly, sounding awestruck. “Harper Lee went to Kansas with him to research the Clutter family murders. It’s still one of the best-selling true crime novels and is considered the start of the nonfiction novel. Who’s he with?” 

“That’s Kay,” Lucy explained, referring to the woman in a white shift dress adorned at collar and wrists with rows of black beads and a matching mask. “And Jack Dunphy. Jack’s a novelist too, but more importantly Capote’s partner. They’ll eventually spend more than thirty years together.”

Jiya gave her a surprised look. “Really? How did I not know that? That’s so romantic.”

“Well, they’ll go through some rough patches, and by the time Capote dies in 1984 they’ll actually be living in separate houses, but he’ll leave everything to Jack. I guess even in the hard times they knew that they had each other,” Lucy elaborated absentmindedly, still lost in the splendor of the party.

Jiya absorbed this new information and then paused a breath before speaking again.  “Speaking of relationships . . what’s going on with you and Wyatt?”

Lucy’s face colored and her attention snapped back to the conversation. “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to push away the sudden, unwanted memory of Dream-Wyatt’s naked body moving against hers. 

“Come on, Lucy,” Jiya cajoled, nudging the other woman with her elbow and shooting her a conspiratorial smile. “I thought things were improving between you two, but today you’re acting super weird around him.”

Lucy shrugged, hoping it came off as nonchalant. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. Wyatt and I are friends. We always have been.”

“Well, not _always_ ,” Jiya prodded. “I seem to remember something a little more serious than _friends_.”

 “I don’t think that’s going to happen again, Jiya,” Lucy sighed, finally looking at her friend. Privacy was in short supply in the bunker, and she was relieved to be away from the prying eyes and listening ears that typically surrounded her.

“After Jessica . .,” Lucy’s voice trailed off, but she swallowed and started again. “I’m not sure we can come back from that. I’m not sure _I_ can come back from that. He picked her. I knew that she was the one he wanted, but I let myself fall for him anyway. And he wasn’t there to catch me.”

Jiya stared at her. “Are you sure, Lucy? Jessica is nothing more than a Rittenhouse pawn. Wyatt doesn’t love her any more than he loves Flynn. He made mistakes—some  _big_ mistakes,” Jiya admitted, and Lucy responded with a wry snort. “But you’re always the one that he comes back to. Even when Jessica was around, in the bunker . . he was always watching you, waiting for you.”

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Jiya raised a hand to stop her. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he still looks at you,” Jiya continued with her own meaningful look. “You don’t look at someone like that if you’re not completely and totally head over heels for them.”

Lucy bit her lip and looked at her friend, wondering if she should confide in her. Of course she trusted Jiya, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to say it out loud. The words bubbled to her lips anyway—she had kept so many thoughts and emotions tucked inside for the past six weeks that she was simply tired of holding it all in. “There’s something else,” she admitted. “I—I had a dream. Last night. About Wyatt.”

“About Wyatt? What was he doing?” Jiya seemed genuinely confused about the relevance of this admission. And then, taking in Lucy’s face— “Oh! Are you telling me that you had a _sex dream_ about Wyatt? Lucy! Why did you wait this long to tell me!” Jiya beamed like a proud parent. “So that’s why you’ve been acting strange around him. I knew it! I knew you still loved him too!”

Before Lucy could reply, she caught sight of Wyatt moving through the crowd below. He was making his way around the perimeter, scanning the room and sliding unobtrusively past the guests even though she could tell his entire body was tense and alert. Rufus was a few paces behind, having abandoned the tray somewhere, and then, in the box across from them— “Emma!” Lucy hissed.

Emma was surveying the room through a pair of opera glasses, obviously searching for someone in the crowd. She had chosen a dark gown and unadorned mask, but her fiery hair was unmistakable. Lucy and Jiya followed the direction of her gaze as it settled on a group gathered at one of the round tables. Several men and women surrounded a sitting blond woman with her head thrown back in laughter, her accessories glinting and flashing in the candlelight. Slightly behind the table, a man stood stiffly by himself, arms behind his back. As Lucy watched, another man walked up beside him, looking vaguely familiar. Lucy squinted, trying to put together the suspicions forming in her mind, then realized that both men’s stances belied a concealed weapon. Concealed weapons that no guest in 1966 should have brought to the ball.

“I think I know what it is. We need to find the guys!” Lucy was already rushing out of the box, and Jiya scurried after her.

Rufus and Wyatt were standing together in a corner, out of the way of the raucous party when the women found them. “What did you find out?” Wyatt asked urgently, glancing at his watch. Time was running out.

“We didn’t find anything down here,” Rufus added.

“It’s Luciana Pignatelli,” Lucy spoke quickly. “She’s an Italian princess.” Lucy found the princess in the crowd again and pointed her out to the group. It wasn’t difficult—despite the crowd, Luciana was radiant in a sleek white gown and a wide smile, and her hair was teased into a complicated updo covered by a white headdress. Suspended from the headdress, a huge diamond dangled over her forehead.

Wyatt whistled under his breath. “Damn. Is that diamond real?”

“You bet it’s real. She borrowed it from Harry Winston. He sent extra security guards here with her tonight just to protect it. I think that’s what Rittenhouse is after.”

“A jewelry heist? That seems a little basic, even for Rittenhouse,” Jiya demurred. 

“True, but this ball might actually be too high-profile for them to kidnap or kill anyone,” Lucy continued. “The crowd and masks will make it much easier for them to simply slip away with a giant jewel. We know their resources are hurting right now. They’ve been on the move since Wyatt took out their headquarters, then Emma murdered their leadership, who knows what morale is like right now. Emma needs an easy win, and this might be it. If they steal the diamond tonight, and take it back to the present, it will have been a cold case for more than fifty years. If they suddenly ‘discover’ a stolen diamond, they’ll get prestige, fortune, everything they need to get their reputation back.”

Wyatt nodded thoughtfully. “So what’s next?”

“We need to get close to them. Warn the guard that his new friend is actually a wannabe jewelry thief. Then we just have to keep Princess Luciana safe until midnight when the masks come off.”

“You guys do that,” Rufus agreed. “Jiya and I will go find Emma.”

“Are you sure?” Lucy asked worriedly.

“Definitely,” Jiya nodded. “We can hold our own against Emma, and you two blend into the crowd better.” As the couple turned to leave, Jiya threw Lucy a sly wink, which Lucy tried valiantly to ignore.

Wyatt was already heading toward the princess’s table, and Lucy hurried to catch up with him. Someone stumbled into his path, and the soldier’s quick reflexes made him stop abruptly. Lucy crashed into him, reaching up to steady herself against his solid back. For a moment, she let herself imagine the strong muscles and smooth skin under his jacket, wishing that the fabric wasn’t keeping her palms from feeling the heat of his body.

The moment ended quickly as they continued through the crowd, keeping an eye on Emma’s goon and the security guard chatting like old friends. They appeared to come to an agreement, and the guard stepped away to approach a tall slender woman in a sequined dress whom Lucy recognized as Lee Radziwill. The guard held out his hand to lead the socialite onto the dance floor, abandoning his post protecting Luciana’s borrowed diamond.

“Oh no,” Lucy whispered, still pressed close behind Wyatt. Despite the clamor of the ballroom, he could hear her clearly in his ear, her breath lightly brushing his skin.

Wyatt wasn’t about to let the guard slip away. He quickly grabbed Lucy around the waist and pulled her onto the dance floor as well. He had a feeling that Lucy wouldn’t be thrilled about his improvisation, but it was the easiest way to get near the guard and Lee. And if it was also a convenient reason to be close to his beautiful historian, well, he wouldn’t complain about that either.

Lucy stiffened as Wyatt’s arms circled her, trying to hold herself away from him as he spun them toward the unlikely pairing of security guard and socialite. But keeping track of both feet while dancing took all of her concentration, and she relaxed slowly into him, allowing him to lead her across the floor instead of fighting his hold. Feeling the tension leave her shoulders, Wyatt slid his hand down a few inches to rest on the small of her back, pulling her against him and allowing himself to enjoy their closeness. Although he was tasked with protecting her, her presence made him feel confident and calm.

“What’s so special about this woman that the security guard had to shirk his responsibility?” Wyatt asked, trying to prevent Lucy from overthinking her physical coordination and their close proximity.

“Lee Radziwill? She’s pretty much American royalty—she’s Jackie Kennedy’s younger sister,” Lucy explained, allowing herself to be distracted. “Actually, right now she’s real royalty—she’s currently married to a Polish prince. She’s trying to become an actress, but ultimately it won’t work out.” 

“Too bad,” Wyatt murmured, tilting his head to lean his cheek against Lucy’s dark hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo. “Anything I would have seen her in?”

“No, her career ended pretty quickly. Capote is the one who encouraged her to act.” Lucy tentatively rested her head on Wyatt’s chest, letting herself sink into his arms. It was part of the mission after all, and it didn’t mean anything about her feelings for him. She could easily pull back.

They were close enough that Wyatt felt her chest expand against his as she took a steadying breath. He was warm and solid and despite her better judgment, she missed him so much. “She starred in a stage production of _The Philadelphia Story_.”

He pulled back quickly, ducking his head to look into Lucy’s face. His mouth quirked up into a signature Wyatt Logan smirk. “ _The Philadelphia Story_?” he repeated. “I happen to be a fan of that one. The costumes at least,” he flirted.  His arms tightened around her to reinforce his unspoken meaning. She had loved that ivory and gold dress too, but she was pretty sure their dip in the pool and its last known location crumpled on Hedy Lamarr’s pool house floor had ruined it.

Wyatt knew it had taken courage for Lucy to share that detail, just like it took courage for her to let him hold her so tightly on the dance floor. He leaned down until his lips just barely brushed against her ear. “I liked it better on the floor, though,” he whispered wolfishly. He knew it was a cheesy line but didn’t care—he wanted to make her laugh or blush or maybe both.

Lucy let out a small squeak of surprise at his boldness, and her face grew red, but secretly she was pleased that he was as preoccupied by their night together in Hollywood as she was. Everywhere her body pressed against his burned like tiny fires had ignited on her nerve endings. She leaned further into him, and Wyatt felt her acquiescence. He let his tongue slide down the curve of her ear before burrowing his face against her neck, pressing soft kisses against the tender skin under her jaw. Lucy clung to him, one hand fisting his jacket and the other coming up to cup the back of his head, feathering her fingers through his hair. She sighed. Her head felt hazy again, just as it had when he had gotten too close to her in the Lifeboat. It made it hard to think clearly. _He_ made it hard to think clearly. To remember exactly why this was such a bad idea when it felt so good to hold him close. To remember why she should push him away when her heart was pounding and her breath was shallow and her stomach was doing flips as his lips worked their way up the side of her face to the corner of her mouth. He hesitated there, long enough to give her the chance to pull back, to let him know that she didn’t want him.

“Wait,” she whispered.

He pulled back infinitesimally. “What?”

Lucy unlocked her arms from around Wyatt’s neck and stepped away, disentangling herself from the soldier. “We can’t do this. Not now, we have to stop Emma.”

Wyatt grinned abashedly but kept staring at Lucy. _Not now_. She didn’t say ‘not ever.’ He was still leaning toward her, and Lucy had to take several deep breaths to slow her pounding heart and focus her swirling head. “Oh yeah. I got a little distracted.” He looked around for the security guard and Lee. “Damn it! Where did they go?”

“They’re gone?! We have to find Luciana ourselves,” Lucy gasped. “We can’t let Emma get to her first.”

Wyatt began weaving through the crowd, dodging sloshing drinks and gesticulating hands and twirling gowns. Lucy reached forward to grab his hand, afraid of losing him in the crush of people, and felt his fingers close tightly around hers, pulling her along in his wake.

The Rittenhouse goon had settled into the chair beside the princess, having chased away the other admirers. Luciana was swaying slightly in her seat and looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. She looked tipsy at best, drunk at worst. She giggled and removed her headpiece, handing it to the goon, who clutched it with a greedy look in his eyes.

Wyatt clapped a heavy hand on the Rittenhouse henchman’s shoulder. “Good evening, friend.” His smile was friendly but his voice held a menacing undertone. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” another voice rang out behind them. Emma and Jessica approached, forcing Rufus and Jiya in front of them with guns pressed against their backs. Lucy looked around, but no one else seemed to notice the weapons being brandished in the crowded ballroom. Of course, Emma had never cared much about being discreet.

Wyatt’s hand immediately went to his own gun. “I see you met Stephen while we were finding these two snooping around the halls,” Emma continued, indicating the henchman with a slight nod of her head. Stephen drew his gun and trained it on Wyatt and Lucy. “Would be a shame if you lost _both_ of your pilots this time. 

“Let them go,” Lucy hissed. She wished she had her own weapon to aim at the woman who had already taken so much from her and still seemed intent on personally destroying the friends who had become family. Burning with white hot rage, she edged closer to Wyatt, who was still standing closest to Stephen and Princess Luciana. She glanced behind her only to see that Luciana had slumped over the table, unconscious. “What did you do to her?”

“Oh it’s just a little rohypnol,” Jessica scoffed, clad in a slinky white dress that clearly illustrated every angle of her straight figure. “Everyone will think she just passed out drunk, but she’ll wake up in a few hours no worse for the wear. Meanwhile we’ll be long gone with _that_ diamond.” She waved her gun toward the headdress, which had been abandoned on the table in the commotion. Emma indicated to Jessica to pick it up, but as she moved toward the table, Lucy lunged as well, both women grasping for the walnut-sized jewel.

Jessica’s gun knocked Lucy hard in the shoulder, and she yelped and fell to the side. Jessica grabbed the headpiece and tried to run, but Lucy reached out to yank at her narrow skirts, and they struggled against each other, tussling over the elegant accessory, punches flying as each tried to gain control.

The crowd parted around Jessica and Lucy as they wrestled onto the dance floor. As she fought the other woman, hair flying and arms flailing, Lucy realized her burning need for revenge wasn’t just about saving the diamond and protecting history. It was about Jessica coming into the bunker—her home—and making it unsafe for Lucy and her family. It was how Jessica manipulated Wyatt into feeling like a guilty failure of a husband and about the devastation plain on his face when she finally revealed her Rittenhouse loyalties. It was the lies she told that convinced Lucy to surrender Wyatt and the possibilities they had together and instead try heroically to welcome Jessica with open arms. Lucy’s rage and Jessica’s athleticism made them a well-matched pair, and the intensity of the struggle made them oblivious to the partygoers crowding them with equal parts horror and fascination.

Emma seemed to tire of the drama and stepped out from behind Jiya, aiming her firearm toward the pair. Wyatt’s instincts took over, and he ran toward the women, throwing himself in front of the barrel of the gun, but it was Jiya who was faster, knocking into the redhead’s arm as she fired so that the bullet ricocheted toward the ceiling. The chandelier swayed ominously, and a sharp crack filled the room. Women shrieked and men cried out. Wyatt watched as if in slow motion as the chandelier shook itself loose from its moorings above Jessica and Lucy and began falling to the floor. He dove underneath the chandelier as it descended dramatically, time speeding up again, and snatched Lucy out of the way, shielding her with his body.

The heavy chandelier crashed spectacularly onto the wooden floor, bits of crystal shattering and spraying the audience. Wyatt threw himself on top of Lucy to take the brunt of the impact. The shards of glass biting into his skin barely registered as he smoothed his hands over her face, searching for injury.

“Are you ok? Are you ok?” he asked frantically. Lucy gulped and nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She stared at him with wide, bright eyes, drinking in his face above her.

“Thank you,” she stammered.

Knowing they weren’t out of danger yet, Wyatt rolled off of her and stood up, pulling Lucy to her feet with him. When he looked up, the jewelry security guard and First Daughter’s Secret Service detail had arrived with drawn guns and circled tightly around Jessica, who had managed to pull herself away from the chandelier’s downward trajectory and was still holding the diamond headpiece.

Lucy caught sight of Rufus and Jiya across the circle. Emma and Stephen were watching Jessica with wide eyes. “We gotta get out of here,” Wyatt muttered. “We can’t be caught up in this.” He motioned frantically to Rufus and Jiya to move, but Emma and Stephen were barely paying attention to them as they slipped away.

Lucy looked back to see Jessica looking desperately at Emma, silently pleading for help as she slowly raised her hands in the air, but Emma simply shook her head and disappeared into the crowd.

The Time Team also ran out of the ballroom, skirting their way through the crowd and into the New York night. Although Emma had again slipped out of their grasp, the redheaded Rittenhouse leader’s plan had been foiled once more. That would have to be enough for now.

The team didn’t talk as they strapped themselves back into the Lifeboat, each shaken by the evening’s activities, but Lucy kept a close eye on Wyatt. Even as he buckled her seatbelt for her, he spared her only a short glance and small, private smile before ducking his head and returning to his own seat before she had a chance to speak.

Rufus was the one to break the silence finally. “Did you see that buffet they were setting up outside the ballroom? It looked delicious,” he observed wistfully. “So I grabbed a pastry,” he grinned, holding the confection aloft and taking a huge bite as he flipped levers and pressed buttons to power up the Lifeboat.

When they returned to the bunker, Jiya and Rufus walked off together holding hands. Wyatt and Lucy exchanged a long look before separating to their own rooms. Lucy couldn’t help herself—after she showered and changed clothes, she pulled out her computer and opened a search engine. She was just starting to type a name, to see what had changed in their history, when Wyatt appeared at her open door with a light knock on the doorframe.

“Don’t do it,” he advised. “I didn’t. I don’t want to know. Not yet, at least.”

“But what if—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wyatt interrupted, shaking his head. “Whatever happened, she deserved it. And for all we know, Emma might go back and save her anyway.”

“I can’t believe Emma just left her behind,” Lucy’s voice quivered. She had no particular love for Jessica, but the callous, merciless way that Emma treated those who got in her way made her shiver. Without Carol Preston pleading her case inside the cult of Rittenhouse, Lucy knew _she_ was most often the person in Emma’s way.

“You know Emma only looks out for herself,” Wyatt countered. “But after Chinatown, and seeing you with Jessica today . . I can’t keep risking you like that. I’d like to teach you some hand to hand combat.” He remembered the way Lucy had described their future selves in the new journal. Now seemed as good a time as any to start molding Lucy into the warrior who had slammed into the bunker in a second Lifeboat.

Lucy closed her laptop and laid her hand briefly on the blanket beside her, issuing an invitation that Wyatt accepted. As he entered the room and settled onto the bed next to her, she sighed deeply and hugged her knees to her chest. “What’s the point, Wyatt?”

He frowned. “The point? The point is that I don’t want you to get killed when I can’t or don’t protect you. Which, maybe you’ve noticed, has been happening a lot lately.” He reached out slowly to run a fingertip across her cheek, indicating that he wasn’t just talking about her physical safety.

“No, I mean, what’s the point of _all_ of this? Emma already killed Rufus once. She killed my mother, my sister is gone, and you lost Jessica _again_ even though you tried to save her. Maybe it’s fate after all, maybe we’re fighting what’s meant to be. They’re always a few steps ahead, and it doesn’t seem like they’re going to stop any time soon. How long do we do this? How long _can_ we keep doing this?” She looked at him miserably, defeat and exhaustion etched into her face.

He reached out to smooth his thumbs over her face, tenderly drying the silent tears that slid down her cheeks. “Lucy, don’t you see? Those things weren’t fate. They were consequences of people’s choices. For better or for worse, we made those choices, and so did they. Jessica isn’t the same woman I married, not the one that I remember. This Jessica lived an entirely separate life from mine, we were never supposed to be together in this timeline. Rittenhouse made her marry me.”

“But what about the baby? Your baby?” She met his gaze desperately, like she was drowning and he had thrown her a lifeline just out of reach, leaving her still splashing helplessly in the ocean of her despair.

Wyatt shook his head slowly. “There is no baby, Lucy. No,” he continued, seeing the look on her face, “She didn’t tell me. But I know. I knew, even back then. It didn’t make sense when she said she was pregnant, but I was trying so hard to believe that our relationship was real that I just accepted it. You saw her tonight, just like I did. She’s as skinny as ever, and she jumped right into that fight with you. A pregnant woman wouldn’t do that.”

“You saved me today,” Lucy whispered. Her voice was quiet but strong—she had grabbed onto that lifeline and was holding it with everything she had. “When that chandelier was falling, you saved me.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, meeting her eyes so she could see the truth in his face. “Lucy, when we go on these missions, our job is to protect the past, to preserve the memory of what used to be. Jessica was part of my past. We can’t change the past, but we can change the future, and the future . . _my_ future . . is you. And I will do anything I can to save my future with you.

“I—I said something to you. After Rufus died,” he spoke haltingly. He didn’t know why Lucy had recorded that conversation in the new journal, but he hoped it was because some part of her still had faith in him, in them. “I promised myself that I would wait until the timing was better to tell you again, but, well the timing’s never going to be right, is it?” They shared a wry smile. For a pair of time travelers, time had never been on their side.

She knew what ‘something’ he was referring to. It was the part of the journal that kept her returning to the Lifeboat every night to reread it and make sure it was real. It was the part she most wanted to be true but was most scared to wish for. “Lucy, I love you. I know I hurt you, so much, and I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry, and I know that you might never be able to feel for me the way I do for you. But I do love you, and that’s the only thing I know for sure anymore.”

The silence stretched as they fell into each other’s eyes. Memories flipped through Lucy’s head like postcards.

_Wyatt, holding her hand in the Lifeboat after she watched Abraham Lincoln die._

_Wyatt, asking her what she was fighting for in Nazi Germany._

_Wyatt, kissing her in front of Bonnie and Clyde._

_Wyatt, tucking her in and kissing her forehead when he thought she was asleep._

_Wyatt, telling her he had no regrets.  
_

_Wyatt, protecting her from a falling chandelier, choosing her._

“When we started these missions,” Lucy started, her voice breaking, “I wanted to save history. I wanted to get my sister back.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. It was as soft as she remembered. “I’m still fighting for those things, but I’m fighting for something else too.” 

“What else?” he breathed, like she was a deer he would spook if he spoke too loudly. 

“I’m fighting for you, Wyatt. I love you too.” She knew it deep in her soul. She had loved him since the Alamo. “Whether it’s fate or free will, I’m choosing you, and I will keep choosing you.”

His eyes shone with joy and hope and unshed tears. She drew her hand out of his hair and smoothed it over his stubbled jaw, and Wyatt closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. When he opened them again, her face was close, so close. He let his gaze dip down to her lips once, twice, then back up to her eyes.

It would be so easy to close the distance between them. He’d been waiting since 1941 to kiss her again. So he did.

Their lips met softly, deliciously, slowly. He savored the feel and taste of her mouth against his. Wyatt pulled back and rested his forehead against Lucy’s, while his hand slipped beneath her hair to cradle her neck. They breathed in the closeness of each other, sharing the same air. Lucy took a deep breath, feeling like she could fill her lungs fully for the first time in weeks. She grabbed his jaw again and brought his mouth back to hers, sighing against him and opening her mouth to his. She could feel his smile curving against her lips.

When Wyatt finally broke the kiss and spoke again, his voice was low and rough, full of emotion. “Without you, I was lost and scared, and I barely recognized myself. You are the best person I know, and you make me better. Lucy Preston, _you_ are my miracle.”

Lucy burrowed her face into his neck and wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Don’t let go,” she begged, voice muffled by the soft cotton of his shirt. 

His chin bobbed against her head as he nodded. “I won’t. Don’t worry, Luce, I’m never letting you go.”

The solid warmth of Wyatt’s arms around her made Lucy feel safe and hopeful for the first time in weeks. They still had a long road ahead, but she wanted and needed him by her side through it all. The future warrior version of herself described in her new journal was strong, fearless, and determined to fight for the people she loved. It was time for Lucy to face her future.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this story as historically accurate as possible. If you're interested in more information, these are the main sources I used.
> 
> Photos:
> 
> Outside the Plaza Hotel, November 28, 1966  
> http://d279m997dpfwgl.cloudfront.net/wp/2016/11/1129_capote-ball01.jpg
> 
> Scene of Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball in the Plaza Hotel Grand Ballroom, November 28, 1966  
> http://www.newyorksocialdiary.com/legacy/i/partypictures/08_14_15/blackandwhiteball.jpg
> 
> Truman Capote and Katherine Graham at the Black and White Ball  
> http://d279m997dpfwgl.cloudfront.net/wp/2016/11/1129_capote-1000x673.jpg
> 
> Italian Princess Luciana Pignatelli at Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/30/5e/29/305e2904a143a8c4d9507f6f0f42bd57.jpg
> 
> Truman Capote and Lee Radziwill at the Black and White Ball  
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/99/05/f8/9905f8cc815211aee7108444b3d62cae.jpg
> 
> Articles:
> 
> https://www.vanityfair.com/style/1996/07/capote199607
> 
> https://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/21/fashion/black-and-white-ball-anniversary-truman-capote.html
> 
> https://www.townandcountrymag.com/the-scene/parties/news/a2704/12-photos-that-prove-truman-capotes-1966-black-and-white-ball-was-the-party-of-the-century/
> 
> https://footwearnews.com/2016/fashion/celebrity-style/truman-capote-black-and-white-ball-1966-anniversary-photos-274582/
> 
> https://capote.wordpress.com/category/the-black-and-white-ball/
> 
> https://dash.harvard.edu/bitstream/handle/1/13041037/Party%20of%20the%20Century%20Thesis%20revised.pdf?sequence=3
> 
> https://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/truman-lee-and-the-prince-an-opening-night


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